Intellect (name may change)
by Cammiarity
Summary: Tamara Owens is intrigued by the owner of the video virus left all over London. In her desire to seek this man out, she discovers Sherlock and John. She becomes an unexpected third wheel of the dynamic duo. What happens when she meets Moriarity for the first time? OC/Moriarity, Sherlock, and John. Picks up exactly where season 3 left off.
1. Chapter 1

"Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?" a face repeated over and over again in all of London, non-stop. If the face weren't so horribly cg'ed and the voice so terribly skewed, I might have thought the person on the screen is cute. But can you imagine the sort of intelligence required to play that sort of trick? Needless to say, I'm impressed. I hear on the streets the man on the screen is dead. Maybe I'm missing something, but clearly he's alive. They say he 'was' some sort of master crimminal. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, but I want to find him, whoever this man is.

I check the library to see if anything in the newspapers back up what I've heard on the streets. To my surprise, I learn this man, James I. Moriarity, had been reported dead from suicide. He framed another man, Sherlock Holmes, a detective driven to fake his own suicide. I'm surprised of how much media coverage there is on these two.

In my defense, for those who think I live under a rock, I hate the news. It's too depressing. And I don't watch the telly. Either there are too many awful commercials or there are too many shows that I find disgusting, boring, or offensive. It's been that way my whole life. I stick to online streaming and tangible movies instead.

The information in the papers now give me access to the location of the Consulting Detective. Which means I now have the key to finding this James I. Moriarity. With firm resolve, I go.

* * *

221B Baker Street.

"Hello, Dearie," says a cheery older woman. "Sherlock is right up the stairs; I'm sure he won't mind if you go right in."

I smile. "Thank you, ma'am."

I walk up the stairs, stepping on a creaky stair. Opening the door, I am met with a very tall man with shortish curly hair. So this is Sherlock Holmes.

He glances me over briefly. "No."

"What?" I ask, taken off guard.

"You're here to see if the stories are true now that the infamous Moriarity has made a reappearance-"

"No he hasn't." Sherlock and a shorter, sandy blonde man just inside the apartment look at me. "Everyone assumes he is back because of the clip playing all over London," I explain. "But it's still digital. For all we know, it could have been recorded prior to his death and was set to go off three years later, just to make everyone go insane trying to find him."

Sherlock smirks. "You don't believe that."

"Maybe not. But I still have to be open to the possibility, don't I?"

The smaller man kinda looks between Sherlock and I, as though trying to figure out what just happened here. "Sorry, who are you?" he asks.

I smile and shake his hand. "Tamara Owens. And you are?"

"John Watson..."

"You don't have a telly?" Sherlock asks.

I turn to him. "No, I don't." Sherlock tilts his head in a way that makes it clear that I've captured his interest.

"So you had no idea who Moriarity or I were, nothing about the suicides until Moriarity put his little message all over London. You don't listen to the news and remain blissfully unaware of anything of real interest as you find it depressing-" By this time, John seems fairly uncomfortable while I just stand here, fascinated. "-so you enjoy reading books, likely filling your head with useless fictional stories, probably enjoy writing equally useless things and now Moriarity holds your interest from the little message he gave us all, why, because you are someone that esteems intelligence and not just anyone would be able to put a looped video clip in London that is almost impossible to be taken down, so you want to meet the man to see if he is actually as smart as you deem him to be and you're willing to do anything for just that and wondered if maybe you could tag along."

I just smile. "Exactly."

Sherlock smirks. He puts his hands together, in thought. John seems surprised. "How are you two getting along?" John asks.

I open my mouth to answer. Sherlock beats me to the punch line. "Her family."

"Sorry?" John asks.

"My mother and my brother have a similar personality," I clarify.

John's brows go up. "That- that's scary."

I laugh. "Granted, they are generally more discreet about their observations, but," I shrug. "I like blunt." John just seems shocked.

"He only sent the message after Magnussen died." Sherlock says, breaking the silence. I just give him a blank look. I have no idea who 'Magnussen' is. "A vital part of his criminal web."

"Ah..." I say, this making sense. The timing is the clencher. "So you have valid reasons to believe James Moriarity is alive."

"Of course," Sherlock says, as though I am a complete idiot, a tone that would offend anyone else if they weren't familiar with it. I, on the other hand, grew up to appreciate that sort of remark.

"So?" I say expectantly. Sherlock smirks and pulls out his laptop, busily tapping.

John looks between Sherlock and I. "Should I-?" He asks, getting up to leave

"No!" Sherlock and I both say adamently.

"Sorry I-" John says awkwardly.

"She isn't interested, John."

"Is that what you thought?" I ask in shock. "No no no, just here to help find James Moriarity, nothing more." Why in the world would John think I have an interest in Sherlock? Absolutely not. I notice Sherlock cocking his brow at me. "What?" He doesn't answer. Oh, right. I get defensive far more than I should be. I really need to get out of that habit.

With this stretch of silence, I realize: the noise stopped. It's an eerie feeling. "It's gone!" John says, breaking the painfully awkward silence. "The message, it's gone."

"Yes, John," says Sherlock.

"Was that you're doing?" I ask, nodding towards the no longer typing Sherlock. There's a twinkle in his eye.

"No, you?" John quips. "Sherlock, a computer nerd?"

"The game, Doctor, is on," he says, happier than a clam. He throws his coat on, ties his scarf, and flips his colar up, almost in one single movement. His thrill is contagious, like a child's

"W- where are we going?" John asks, struggling to keep up. Even I can see Sherlock has a lead.

"To find James Moriarity, of course!" I say with excitement, taking off after Sherlock.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This is my first story published online, but this is not the first story I have ever written, so please don't worry about going easy on me in the reviews. I accept ideas and suggestions, as I may work them into the fanfic. I do not have a specific ending in mind, although I do have at least one point that I would eventually like to reach. The title will change when I have a better idea of where the plot is going. In the meanwhile, I hope you enjoy reading this and give me all of the feed back you can (Including spelling /grammar errors)!

*Thank you Miss Ella Black for pointing out my poor spelling and grammar both in the chapter and in my author notes.

*To guests and others that seem confused by the interaction between Sherlock and Tamara when John asks about how the two get along: Sherlock has an incredible ability to tell a person's entire life story just by looking at them and hearing a very brief, seemingly insignificant remarks they make. His ability sometimes appear to be nothing more than impossible assumptions, and yet they are always about 99% correct.

*Also, if this story seems to start in the middle and you feel lost: my fanfic does start in the middle of a story. To fully understand my fanfic, you have to watch Sherlock BBC all the way throught to the last episode of season 3. My story picks up literally at the very last line of His Last Vow (S3, Ep3) through Tamara's point of view (the character I own).


	2. Chapter 2

\\\There's a fire starting in my heart/

* * *

We arrive at this place that looks like a dump. Burned out, but not down. People have definitely been in it.

"Shut up."

I blink, confused.

"It was only burned out within this past week, all the rubbish is new, hasn't been here long," Sherlock explains.

Oh, he knew I was thinking along the wrong lines. All three of us start scouting, for what, I don't know.

Except that it becomes glaringly obvious. "Sherlock," I beckon. The wall, next to an outlet, says it all in vibrant yellow spray paint: DID YOU MISS ME? The "O" has a smiley face in it.

Sherlock takes one glance at it. "Irrelevant," he says.

"How is it irrelevant?"

"Its just a distraction, tells us nothing at all."

"But doesn't it mean he or someone in his crimminal web was here?"

"His message led us here, of course one of them were here; try and keep up if you're planning on staying."

"Sherlock," John asks, "how did his message lead us here, exactly?"

"IP adress," we both say.

"You have got stop doing that," John says. "Its freaking me out."

Sherlock and I both smirk. "This room, over here," he says.

I look at it. On a collapsed, charcoal remains of a desk sits a burnt computer monitor. "Source of the fire?"

"Mm," he nods in sort of agreement.

"So we were led to a dead end?" John asks.

"Of course not," Sherlock says. He fiddles with his phone.

"Care to elaborate on that, Sherlock?" John asks while I patiently wait.

"This was a technology shoppe; lots of computers, laptops, phones. But there was only one computer that got burned-"

"The one that sent the virus?" I asked.

"Yes," he says, somewhat irritated. I'm not sure if it was too obvious, if I cut him off, or if I was being a little too clever for his liking that made him annoyed.

"Why weren't there any other electronics ruined?" John asked.

Sherlock looks at me, as if to see if I had any other ideas. After a hesitant thought, I suggest, "Maybe the shoppe owner was in on the virus and is a link to James Moriarity?"

"Yes!" Sherlock says excitedly "Exactly!" And off he runs.

John looks at me, at a loss. "How?"

"What?"

"That, there, you just...get on with him"

"My brother and my best friend are computer nerds."

"No- i mean-" he stops, giving up his attempt to explain himself.

"Come on, we're going to lose him," I say, grabbing his hand.

* * *

Author's Note:

I wish to apologize for those who feel my chapters aren't... suspenseful enough. If you have an idea on how to make the chapters I have written more suspenseful, please pm me your edit and how you make your endings more suspenseful on a routine basis. I have a writing habit of writing each chapter as either a mini-story or containing a full 24 hours worth of story. I do appreciate you bringing up my deficiency so that I can become a better writer.

Also, I'm going to ask all my readers for a little patience for my next chapter. If you don't mind spoilers and wish to assist me in ideas, either send a review saying you may have an idea/suggestion, or just send a pm to me with the details. Please be kind and remember that not everyone likes spoilers, so please do not put your ideas in the reviews themselves. Thank you for your patience, kindness, honesty, and suggestions!

:)


	3. Chapter 3

\\\reaching a fever pitch and it's bringing me out the dark/

* * *

We step out of the cab, arriving at an older, red brick apartment building, three stories high. Not too bad of a place, if you ask me. At least, not from the outside. It has a very basic security system. Two doors, buzzers, and locks for all the inner doors, stairs, no lifts.

"So what is the owner's name?" John asks.

"Timothy Davis," Sherlock answers, ringing a bell that I assume to be the named man linked to James Moriarity. "A smart man, but not very."

I can't help but smirk. Anyone bordering my brother's- or my Mother's intelligence is bound to think most people aren't as bright as they are believed to be. After all, even common sense isn't all that conmon, as my mother liked to say.

Sherlock buzzes again. I look between John and Sherlock, recognizing Timothy Davis isn't going to be answering.

And then Sherlock starts picking the lock.

"Are you allowed to do that?" I ask incredulously. I know he's a special detective but...

"No cameras, we're not being watched," he replies.

"Whu- Sherlock!" John hisses. "You can't break into a flat!"

"The man was sloppy, John, and now he's not answering the buzzer; what else would you expect?"

I look at Sherlock with eyes wide like oh my goodness. "He could be out on holiday or grocery shopping or even out looking for a new job!"

"Pity, I expected more of you, Tamara; that man left a very sloppy and traceable job and Moriarity is very meticulous and if I'm right, which I always am, he didn't make it to his holiday shopping job today and he won't be able to answer that door, leaving us another neat little puzzle as a prize to send to the morgue-"

"Ok, Sherlock, I get it. You know more about Moriarity than I do and I have never claimed to be a genius as you are." And after a brief second of both John and Sherlock being thrown slightly off guard and I reflect on my earlier words, I add, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I go off like that on people." And that seems to render both men speechless. "What? You've never heard an apology before?"

"To Sherlock?" John asks, his tone as though my question is a joke. "No, not really, no." I raise my brows.

"Well, you best get use to it," I say with a frank smile. To the somewhat dazed Sherlock, I gesture to the door. "If you're right about Timothy Davis, you best get a move on. Don't want a passerby phoning the police for a good deed."

That seems to wake him up. Opening the door, Sherlock leads us in to the second floor. John knocks while Sherlock starts picking on the lock. Inside is white and clean flat with a slight jasmine scent and a more putrid smell of decay. John and Sherlock both seem to recognize this putrid smell very quickly and follow it to the kitchen. I hang back and check out the rest of the flat.

In Timothy Davis's office, there is, of course, a wealth of electronics. Evidently, he has a love of computers. Hence his former chosen occupation. I'm sure he could easily have gotten any job he wanted. We should probably scour the electronics to see if anything valuable shows up. I'm sure either Sherlock or one of his friends would be able to cover that.

Pulling out a keyboard shelf, I notice a small silver key on a chain; tainted with a small splash of blood. "Uh, Sherlock?" No answer, but I do hear muttering between Sherlock and John.

When footsteps finally do arrive, I meet John instead of Sherlock. "What do you have, Tamara?"

"There's a key with blood on it in here."

"Oh, um. Ok. Any idea what it might belong to?"

"Not really. There aren't any locks in here that I can see." John kind of nods.

After a bit of hesitating, he asks, "You have never seen a dead person before, have you?"

I look at him briefly before returning my attention to the electronics. I knew what he meant. "No, I haven't."

"Why are you here, really?" He asks.

How do I answer? I don't really know, myself. "Well," I falter, trying to gather words. "I suppose it's as Sherlock said. James Moriarity seems intelligent." I try to shrug it off. But it bothers me. He's a known killer. A master one, at that.

"So is Sherlock," he says, almost kindly, like he's trying to draw me out. "You've heard of his intelligence, seen him take down the video," he trails off.

"I know," I say softly. After a short stretch of silence, I add, "I think someone should search through the computers to see if anything turns up."

John looks a little taken aback by my abrupt subject change. "Y-yes, of course, I'll...I'll get Sherlock to call someone in now." After a faltering look in my direction, he returns to Sherlock. And I am left to my own uncomfortable thoughts.

"Tamara!" Sherlock calls.

"What?" I hollar back.

"The key."

"What about it?" I ask with a smirk.

"I need it," he says with audible irritation.

"Well come and get it!" I hear him muttering something, and John muttering back. Yes, I know I am irritating Sherlock. But what can I say? It's fun.

"I'm busy," he finally says in response.

I finally pick it up by the clean part of the chain and bring the key to him. "Oh, g-" I cover my mouth and nose. This is gross.

Sherlock smirks. "Lovely, isn't it?" He takes the key from me to examine it. "What do you make of it?"

"Unpleasant," I retort.

"Yes, I'm sure it was. Anything else?"

I just look at him. "He likes it when people give him their input," John explains.

"You're looking to find Moriarity, this is what he does- or rather, pays other people to do for him, if you plan on succeeding, I suggest you get used to murders and deaths, Ms. Owens."

I close my eyes like honestly. I take a moment to gather myself. "Ok," I say, opening my eyes again. "Um." I glance over the body of Timothy Davis and try to harden my stomach. "I'm not great at guessing ages, but...he isnt someone I would call old enough to be my father, and certainly not a kid, um."

"Good," Sherlock says, encouraging me to continue.

"...he suffered some blows...and...I don't know, murders aren't my thing. But I would like to see where this key goes and, so far, the only lock I see is this old freezer." And I promptly start trying out the lock and key.

I can actually hear Sherlock roll his eyes at me. "John?" The key does indeed fit the freezer lock.

"Well he saw the attacker coming at him...his wounds indicate a slow and painful death, maybe from a stabbing?" John answers. I open the freezer and am faced with nothing but sherbert.

"That's wierd," I say.

"I would say maybe...30 years old and...well we know he's a techie," John continues.

"Do many people only store sherbert in a locked freezer?" I ask.

Sherlock and John finally pull their attention over to me. Sherlock stands up and pulls one out. "None of them are opened..." Sherlock mutters to himself. "A 30 year old, single man knew his attacker, he died with his sweater on, but its warm inside; he must have planned an escape, Tamara, did you find any cases or boxes?"

"I- I didn't check all the rooms," I stammer, taken off guard.

Immediately Sherlock turns to race through the other rooms, John not far behind. Not wanting to stay in the same room as a murdered man, I follow. Sherlock is in the bedroom with a suitcase opened up and he's riffling through it.

"You know...I think you should scan the computers and devices in his office," I say.

"Yes, Lestrade will take care of it once he arrives," he says. Ok, noted. "Yes, he was rushing. The clothes were stuffed in here without reason, he forgot his socks, had his keys, wallet, and phone when his attacker came and murdered him slowly and painfully..." He trails off in deep thought. I am sufficiently lost. "He showed signs of struggle...he knew what was going to happen for his sloppy work; Moriarity had to tie up the loose ends and Timothy became one of them..."

"And the thing with the freezer?" I ask.

"He's toying with me."

"So his message was specifically intended for you?"

"Yes, yes, of course it was," Sherlock says as he gets up to leave.

"Wait- I thought you were going to call someone in," I say. As if on cue, someone barges in to the flat.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I was going back and forth on whether or not I would end it here or introduce the person/people that barge in because I can't imagine it being a very long scene. I even considered skipping it all together. Please let me know what you think.


	4. Chapter 4

\\\finally I can see you crystal clear/

* * *

"Who is this?" a grey headed man asks as he steps in.

A younger woman walks in and echoes his question. "Who's she?"

"Tamara Owens," I say pleasantly.

"Where'd you pick this one up, Freak?" I just blink.

"Excuse me?"

"Detective Inspector Lestrade," the grey headed man says with his hand out stretched.

"She's assisting me," Sherlock answers the woman.

"This is Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade offers. "Yes- Sherlock, you know I can't have Tamara here, I'm not even supposed to let you and John in here!"

"You know, I think I'm just going to step out," I say.

"You don't have-"

"Yes, you'll only be in my way," Sherlock cuts John off.

I just leave. There are too many people and I know I won't be of any more benefit to the detective and his friend. So I take a cab home.

* * *

I shrug off my jacket and put my purse- there's an envelope on my table. How did that get there? I live in this flat by myself. I pick up the note and search carefully through my flat. There isn't anyone here that I can tell...

The letter is addressed to Ms. Tamara Owens. It sends a chill down my spine because I know for a fact I had never seen this envelope before. I open the envelope and pull out the letter to read.

"My dear Tamara Owens,

"I wish to invite you to a special event where I ask you for the pleasure of a dance. There is a matter I wish to discuss with you. Alone.

"So be ready at six this evening and I promise someone will be there to bring you to me. Please, dress formally or I fear you will feel horribly out of place. Ta-tah!"

Dress formally? Alone? Normally this would raise red flags, and it does. There is no signature, and why would they feel the need to express their desire for me to be alone? I don't even know where they are taking me or who is picking me up to bring to this mystery man.

But the more I think about it, the more interested I become. I look at the time and see I have maybe an hour to get ready. I don't own anything formal, but I will put on my nicest outfit. Naturally, I go to rifle through my closet.

Wait, what is this? I pull out a dress I have never seen before. It's beautiful, black satin, floor length with little green bead details in the shape of flowers. This had to cost a fortune. Does that mean I have shoes to match? I search through my shoes and, yes, there are a pair of heels that go beautifully with the outfit. Ok, now I have to go, if only to thank the mystery man.

At six sharp, I hear the buzzer to my flat and my heart jumps sky high with excitement. I push the talk button. "Coming!" I hurry downstairs in the dress- how they knew my exact size, I'll never know and probably dont want to know. I stop when I see a tall, broad, sophisticated looking man with a limo behind him.

"Miss Owens?" the man asks.

"...yes, that's me, sir," I stammer in awe.

"This way, please," he says, gesturing to the limousine.

I follow in disbelief. Who is this man I am going to meet? It can't be James Moriarity, could it? I mean, what crimminal would fetch someone that is seeking them out with the help of a detective? That just doesn't make any sense. On my way toherever it is, I finally get my nerve up to make conversation. "Who are you? If I may ask."

"Sebastian Moran."

"Where are am I going?"

"To meet my employer."

"What's his name?"

"He would like the pleasure of introducing himself to you when we arrive." He sure is tight-lipped. I just stare out the window until we arrive. When we pull to a stop, Sebastian Moran gets out and opens my door. "My employer is just inside, near the musicians."

"How will I know it's him and not another man?"

Sebastian smirks. "You will not mistake him. Nor will he mistake you, Miss Owens."

That sends a chill down my spine as I walk in. When I enter, I see it is a grand ball room of breath taking size, food and drink bars all around. Opposite of the entrance is where the musicians are. Butterflies enter my stomach, partly because there are so many people, and partly because I am meeting someone for the first time. I make my way to the area of the musicians.

As I close in to where I am supposed to meet the man of the note, my eyes fall on one man in particular and I almost completely lose my breath. He has deep brown hair, eyes almost as dark, only about an inch taller than me in these heels, and he has an amazing smile I know will take a long time to get over. And he is walking towards me.

Instinctively I straighten my back more and smile, because how can I not? "You're James Moriarity?" I ask with a little more of a pleased tone than I had intended.

"So glad you came," he answers, taking my hand to shake. I just light up all the more.

"How could I say no? I had to come and thank you." This seems to put a glint in his eye as he pulls me into a dance, making my heart flutter. "How did you know what I would like? We've never met before."

"I've seen you around before, Tamara. I can tell a lot just by looking," he says with a sly smile. "Did you like my little display over in London?"

I allow a few measures and dance movements before I answer. "I like the brilliance it took to pull it off."

He nods some. "Good." After a couple more dance steps, he asks, "Would you say you are perceptive, Tamara?" I give him a wierd look. He pulls me in with a spin and whispers hot in my ear, "Because if you are, then you would not continue to seek me out."

He renders me speechless. What does one say to that, exactly? Especially when his actions and the way he says it completely contridicts what he is actually saying. Gathering my wits again, ask, "Is that why you brought me here? To threaten me?"

"No no no," he says as he unravels me from his arms. "I brought you here to send a message to your new friends." He gives me a devilish grin. "Tell Sherlock if he doesn't want to die..." He pauses for a dramatic effect and leans me way back. "Back off."

A sickening moment of fear follows immediately before my back hits the ground. A couple of people help me up in a panic, hustling and bustling about to see if I'm ok. All I can see is that man, James Moriarity, is not among them anymore.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I have to give my props to my bff. She came up with the brilliant idea of Moriarity meeting our star, threatening her and sherlock, and then just abruptly leaving Tamara completely alone. Honestly, I don't know what I would do without her to bouncr ideas off of.


	5. Chapter 5

\\\Go ahead and sell me out/

* * *

"I'm fine; will you get off?" I ask incredulously to the group surrounding me. Honestly, at least give me a little dignity after a fall, please. They finally disperse so I can get some air. Despite my gut feeling, I look to see if James or Sebastian are anywhere around. As I had guessed, I am left to my own devices. I sigh and ask a man if I can borrow his phone to call a cab; I left mine at home.

I am still in shock about what all happened. The dress, the dance, the threat to me, the real threat to Sherlock Holmes, him dropping me in mid-dance to disappear. So I do the only thing I can think of to wrap my mind around everything: I put it on paper. From his incredible smile and- well. His smile. The way he spoke and carried himself, how incredibly comfortable he was in his own skin. The way his eyes seemed to see right through me...and maybe he did. He appeared to be genuinely happy that I came to thank him. I even check the books on body language to be sure. Then the way he threatened for me to stop seeking him out. He sounded and acted so different from what his actual words were saying. Maybe his words to me weren't a warning. Maybe they were more of a challenge, an invitation. He volunteered the word perceptive. Is that what he thinks of me? How can he completely turn my head around? This man, did he know he was turning me inside out? I've heard of men deliberately turning women inside out to mess with their minds or to influence their decisions in a certain way. Like the way he whispered in my ear. The mere thought still sends chills down my back. He may be a master criminal but he definitely has siezed my heart.

Tamara Owens, I am ashamed of you. How dare you refuse to look at this man objectively? He is responsible for numerous deaths, including the painful death of Timothy Davis. He nearly made Sherlock kill himself and even went to risking his own life to ensure it. Now he is threatening you and Sherlock Holmes for trying to find him and solve his crimes. He broke into your flat and left an ominous note and left you to fend for yourself when he should have provided you transportation home.

But he did send me a dress with matching shoes, both surely costing a fortune. And what about the ride in the limousine, complete with a chauffeur?

Has it really not occured to you the dress and shoes and limousine could have been stolen? Remember the crowned jewels, Tamara.

I know but-

No buts. You are going to contact Sherlock, and you are going to tell him about the threats-

He doesn't need to know about the threat made to me; James never said what would happen if I did-

Oh, great, I'm not seriously thinking about it, am I? But what if it WAS an invitation or a welcomed challenge? Besides, what if he is like Andrew?

Whoah, where did that come from? Andrew is not a criminal mastermind.

No, but he was very bright and a computer fanatic. Remember what happened to him.

Tamara Owens, do not dare to compare anyone to your brother, least of all, a criminal master mind that could be merely using you for his own devices. Andrew would never do that to you.

I just sigh and warm up some dinner. Why did James have to confuse absolutely everything for me? I mean, look at me. I'm fine living by myself, being completely single as I have been my entire life. I just write and read and wait for my checks to come in from the things I wrote. It's not much, but it's been enough to keep me happy, anyways.

So why did he have to happen and make me question if that's all I really want now?

* * *

After sleeping on it, I decide I should at least warn Sherlock about James's threat. I text the number online. [JM left a msg: if u dont want 2 die, back off -TO]

Then I get my shower, after which I wrap up in a towel to grab my clothes in my room. "Sherlock!" I screech, and quickly shut the bathroom door in his face. And lock it.

"Where did he leave the message, Tamara?" He calls through the door.

"You can't break in to people's flats!" I say, ignoring his question

"You weren't answering the buzzer-"

"I was showering," I say darkly.

"Yes, thank you for stating the obvious; Tamara, the message. Where is it?"

"I'm not telling you anything until you leave my flat." The door knob starts to jiggle. "Sherlock! Get out before I call the police!" I scream, leaning against the door to keep him out.

"I need to know about that message!"

"Then walk out of the flat, wait 10 minutes, then ring my buzzer and wait for me to let you in."

"Fine," he says with irritation. I wait until I hear the door close and then I cautiously open the door. It seems all clear. I get dressed quickly and fix my hair. At 10 minutes exactly, my buzzer goes off. He sure is an impatient man. I make him wait a full minute. And then I let him in.

He trudges in, sufficiantly irritated for the day. "The message?"

"Oh, I'm doing fine; and how are you doing today?"

He gives me a look and I roll my eyes.

"There is nothing for you to analyze, Sherlock. I gave you the message."

"You could have told me it was a call."

I just look at him. "Sherlock."

His attention snaps in on me, fully focused, making me uncomfortable under his gaze. "Where did you meet him?"

"I don't know," I say. Immediately chastising my defensive tone of voice.

He gives me an I don't believe you look. He gets up to start searching around.

"Sherlock, you have no right snooping around my flat-" Too late. He opened my bedroom door and I'm not the neatest person in the world.

"Then why is the last thing you wore last night an evening gown?"

I open and close my mouth. Finding my words, I finally say, "That doesn't mean I know where I went!"

"Why did you go?"

"I told you, I wanted to find him. He found me-"

"What happened? I need you to tell me everything in exact detail," Sherlock says intensely.

"Woah, hold up, Sherlock. You're not going to interrogate me."

"I need you to understand, Tamara, Jim Moriarity is a very-" He stops, looking at me intensely. A dawn of realization hits him. Oh no, what did he just deduce?

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I had a little trouble trying to get this chapter finished. I knew I wanted to have Sherlock back in the picture for this chapter, but had troubles figuring out how to do so. And then I got a little nervous about my Sherlock portayal, thinking just maybe I got a little OOC, but my bff assurred me he is very in character. Let me know what you think! And as always, let me know if there are any spelling or grammatical errors I need to fix. And lastly, let me know what your guess is about what Sherlock just deduced ;)

Until my next chapter!

PS, I do accept questions, if you happen to have any.


	6. Chapter 6

\\\I'll lay your shi[p] bear/

* * *

Sherlock is still staring at me intensely.

"Sherlock, you can stop that, now."

"Why were you looking for Moriarty?"

"I told you already. I wanted to know who created the video virus and find him."

"You've met him now. I recommend you stop."

"You're the one he gave the death threat to, Sherlock, and I don't see you stopping any time soon."

"You don't know who he is-"

"Neither do you! You spent all of five minutes with him, you're hardly one to-"

"That's different."

"How so?"

"I can see people's lives at a glance."

"No you don't." At this, Sherlock gives me a look. "You infer lives from what has a noticeable affect on the way they live, dress, and carry themselves. You don't see what they hide underneath and the little things that make them who they are today."

"It's not love, Tamara."

I blink. "Well, obviously, Sherlock. I just met the man one time."

"He will use you. And then he will throw you away like a pawn."

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do."

"How?"

"Molly." I just look at him blankly. He stands up and grabs my hand, dragging me out the door.

"Wha- Sherlock! What are you *doing*?"

"You won't listen. You're meeting Molly."

* * *

"Sherlock. Why are you taking me to a hospital?"

"Morgue." Wait.

"What?"

He sighs audibly, as though I'm a miserably slow idiot. "Molly works at the morgue."

That is a little disturbing. This Detective sure deals with an awful lot of death. He drags me in and he walks up to a a woman, a bit taller than me, long brown hair.

"Molly."

"Oh," she says. "Hello, Sherlock." Obviously she likes him a lot. "Who is this?"

"Tamara. Tell her about your boyfriend."

"Sorry, who? I'm not dating anyone."

"Jim. From IT."

"We weren't dating. We went out three times and I ended it." She sounds like she explained this to him before.

"I have a body needing looked over. Mr. Timothy Davis, to be exact." With that, Sherlock takes off.

"Oh, ok," Molly says, seemingly surprised.

"Hi," I say awkwardly.

"Hi. What was that all about?"

"Um. I met Jim Moriarty. Once. Sherlock isn't too pleased with it."

"Oh," Molly nods. "Well, probably because Jim is his worst enemy."

Another awkward stretch of silence. "Sherlock said Jim used you?"

"Use me? He didnt use me!" She says defensively. Appearantly Im not the only one to fancy James- Jim. She thinks a moment. "Well. Maybe. He did pretend to be someone from IT when he asked me out to meet Sherlock," she admits. "How did you meet him? Jim, I mean."

"It's kind of a strange meeting."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he broke in to my flat while I was away. He left a note, an invitation to a formal dance. I met him at the dance. We spoke for less than a song and then he dropped me and disappeared."

"It almost sounded romantic," she says with a bit of resentment. Do I detect jealousy? Or maybe anger towards her former boyfriend.

"I'm sorry, Molly, I didn't mean-"

"You didnt; it's ok." Another stretch of awkward silence. "You know, I'm not against what you're doing."

"Really?"

"Jim can be..." She trails off a moment. "He can be very charming, sometimes."

"Sherlock doesn't seem to see it that way."

"There's always two sides to everything. He can miss a lot, Sherlock."

"Like the way you look and speak to him?"

She's quiet for second. "Yeah. A bit like that. But I mean, that's not his fault, he's married to his work." I look at her with pity. She is so quick to defend Sherlock.

"I'll see what I can do to help, Molly."

"No, that's not- you don't have to, I mean, thats just the way he is."

"I can tell you are a very nice person, Molly." I give her a smile. "Tell Sherlock I'll stop when he quits putting his life in danger. It was nice meeting you."

I turn to leave. "Whu- Thank you," Molly says behind me.

Did Sherlock honestly think I was going to stop just because of that? Her life never was in danger. And she ended the relationship, not Jim. And what's wrong with wanting to meet the people a partner works with? I hail a cab and get in.

"Where to, Miss?" I sit up. I know that voice.

"Sebastian?" I ask. He looks in the rear view with a smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I was told to give you this," he says, handing me a black envelope.

"My dear Tamara Owens,

You certainly are a perceptive flower, aren't you, my dear? How is Miss Molly Hooper? Such a sweet girl of innocene.

"How far would you run to find Andrew? With Regards..."

I just stare at the letter. How did he know about my brother? About my discussion with Molly?

"Look inside the envelope, Miss Owens," Sebastian says, interrupting my thoughts.

I do as he says. There's something written. "Do not imagine you have found me. No one ever gets to me and no one ever will."

That sends my head spinning. What does that mean? What does he want from me? How am I suppose to answer any of his questions to begin with?

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I want to thank you for your patience with me on this. I didn't intend to take so long on this chapter. But I had not abandoned Intellect, nor was I idle. For those wondering, I have been working very hard on a co-authored fanfiction as NicoleMarie0. For more information, visit my profile page. That is where I will keep you updated as to what is happening.

Part of my problem with this chapter was Molly being OOC and I had to rewrite some of it because of putting her back in character. But at least now everything is connected again.

So, any thoughts on that note Jim left? Is it as ominous as it sounds? What do you think it means? What are your thoughts on my chapter? Is there anything you want or think should happen in my fanfic? Let me know, my ears are always open!


	7. Chapter 7

\\\See how I leave with every piece of you/

* * *

I look at the note again.

"My dear Tamara Owens,

You certainly are a perceptive flower, aren't you, my dear? How is Miss Molly Hooper? Such a sweet girl of innocene.

"How far would you run to find Andrew? With Regards..."

Yes, where is Andrew? I haven't seen him or even heard from him in years. All I really remember of him are the things from when I was young, before he left. It's not like I've trekked the world over searching for him. I have, however, scoured the internet, only to be met with mere hints of the Andrew I remember. Highly intelligent, protective, creative, and everything I ever wanted to be when I grew up. It tore me apart when he left. The person I looked up to the most was the one person that did the unthinkable and scarred our family.

"Miss Owens?"

"Hm?"

"This is your destination," Sebastian says.

I look out my window and see an apartment I have never been to, or even heard of before. I look back at Sebastian. "Where am I?"

"Your questions may be answered inside."

I draw my brows and get out. Honestly, I can't decide if I'm scared or intrigued. Probably both. I walk inside.

The first thing I notice is this isn't an apartment building. At all. It's a mansion disguised as an apartment building. The second thing I notice is how incredible the decore is. I mean, it's absolutely fantastic. But no one seems to be home.

Hesitantly, I call out. "Hello?" No one answers. Should I take my shoes off? Stand here? Nah. I walk forward towards one of the pristine white sofa chairs. It's very soft. I like it. And the ceiling is high, making room for the very large and startling black bookshelf that lines the wall. I go over to it to examine the books it holds.

Mysteries, fairytales, biologies, mathematics, technologies...quite an array, really. An array that seems quite fitting for someone like Jim- well. What little I know of him, and that's not much.

One book looks particularly interesting to me. A science fiction that- that looks remarkably like the story Andrew told me when we shared a room at night...my heart starts beating faster. _'How far would you run to find Andrew?'_ I look out in the direction of the stairs in disbelief. Who is this man, really? Andrew never put it down in writing, yet here is his story in a book and it's in Jim's living room; how is that possible? I can't help myself, I pull it out and start flipping through it.

There it is, the wooden eye maze with the marble ball, the creatures, down to the last detail. How is this possible? I look at the author's name. Cory T. It's not even a pseudoname Andrew would use. But the book...

I carry it with me as I search the house. This book is the closest I've ever been to Andrew since the day he left. I explore the rest of the down stairs. Other than the pristine décor, there isn't really much that captures my interest. The downstairs is clearly for guests. There are no private rooms down here. I hesitate at the stairs. I don't know if I should go up. I don't want to intrude on anyone if anyone proved to be here.

 _'How far would you run to find Andrew?'_ I here the question like it's a whisper in my ear, urging me forward. With my heart pounding and the book firmly in my grasp, walk up to the second story. This level has an entirely different theme. This entire floor has darkened theme with deep hues. As I explore, I find a computer desk.

The computer. It's 0a mainframe. Andrew had 0a mainframe. Drawing closer, I see the prompt screen is personalized entirely. It's so tempting to try out the computer, see if it really is like anything I remember. My hand brushes against a paper on the desk. I draw my brow and take a closer look.

"You-" I turn around with a gasp and my flying free hand is stopped in someone else's.

"Jim!" My eyes are wide as saucers. I don't know why I am so surprised. I knew this was his home.

He chuckles. _"Good_ reflexes." I don't even know what to say or think except slowly trying to retrieve my hand. "Now, now, Tamara, I want you to tell me the truth. Is it to your liking?"

I draw my brows. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen you snooping around, I want to know if you like it." I don't even know how to answer him. It's not my house, it's not my stuff, I wasn't even suppose to be here. His face falls. Like he's disappointed in me. "Go." What?

"I- I'm sorry, Jim-" I am cut off by a dry chuckle.

"You're sorry?" he asks. A dark look sets in his eyes. "Tamara Owens is invited to a house and doesn't have the decency to answer a s _imple_ question so she can say SORRY?" I flinch. "Give me the book," he says, as though he hadnt just yelled, his hand outstretched. "Go on," he says encouragingly. "I won't bite. _This_ time." I can only stare at him, unable to bring myself to giving this book up, gripping it tighter, even. A sinister smile makes it's way onto his lips as he grabs the book. _"Gotcha."_

I finally find my voice. "Where did it come from?"

"Ah, you speak." He starts to pull on the book slowly.

"Please," I ask softly. "How do you have all these things?"

"You can't honestly believe Andrew is the _only person_ to have ideas and computers."

"No, but that book is his," I say firmly.

"Hmm..." He glances at the cover. "No, no, no. This is Cory Turn-"

 _"Turner?"_ my eyes wide again. I snatch the book back and start flipping to the copyright page, but he snatches it back.

"Ah ah ah. Everything has a price, Tamara."

"Please, I haven't seen my brother in years."

The sinister smile is back. "Yes you have."

"No I haven't-"

He takes a step closer. "Yes, Tamara. You do." Another step and my heart is pounding out of my chest. "You see him everywhere, in everyone. Intellect is only a fraction."

My head is swirling. How can he possibly know? I actually find myself stumbling backwards, only to be caught by both hands. "Uh-oh, watch your step, Miss Owens. Don't want you to hurt yourself, now."

I need out. I need to breath. The moment he lets go, I run.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hi! This took a turn I wasn't even expecting as an author! Lol

I was a little worried about the way I was going to have the conversation go. He turned out more sinister than I had intended, but I suppose that's what happens when you try to remain true to the original characters.

This chapter has, however, inspired me to find a new title: Finding Andrew. Tell me if you like it or not, please. And watch my profile board to see if the name does change because I have no idea how a name change will affect those that follow Intellect, so please keep in touch.

Tell me what you think, questions you may ask, and any ideas you may have; I'm always listening!


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